You've Consumed Me
by unfortunate star
Summary: When you want a boy you shouldn’t even think about in a romantic sense, it’s even harder to forget about him. And I tried, I seriously did, but forgetting about Draco Malfoy is a very hard thing indeed especially when he is your enemy.


**Summary: **When you want a boy you shouldn't even think about in a romantic sense, it's even harder to forget about him. And I tried, I seriously did, but forgetting about Draco Malfoy is a very hard thing indeed; especially when he is your enemy.

**Author's Note(s):**

1. please keep updated on this story if you are interested in a sequel, because i might make a one-chapter sequel (posted as a chapter, not a complete other story). if i ever get around to it. please be patient.

2. i wrote this story in a day. actually a few hours, because the idea came to me completely randomly and i just began to write. so this is kind of a rough copy (and i mean _really _rough). i don't actually plan on a sequel but it's not tied up exactly how i want it to be. i suppose that depends on feedback and my motivation.

**You've Consumed Me**

There was no one I could love as much as I loved him. I'm not sure why I did, because he definitely didn't deserve my attention but every time I saw him I wanted to melt into a little puddle. I wanted him to sweep me away and do things to me not polite to mention in certain types of company. Actually, some things so intimate it shouldn't be shared with anyone. Except lovers. And I wanted to be his lover. But it would take a miracle for him to notice me above anything than a piece of trash. And the problem was I knew I was more than that. I knew I deserved so much more respect and I earned that from different people but it didn't matter to me. I just wanted _him_ to notice me.

Ever since day one we were enemies. Actually, he was my enemy before I even met him. How sad is that? How _cliché_ is that? Mortal enemies falling in love with one another. Oh how wonderful. But fairytales don't exist to me, and happy endings only happen in those made up fables. This was a one sided love that I had for him. I know it wasn't returned. All I got from him was hateful words and dirty glances. Why couldn't he just see me for the intellectual, beautiful side of me? I was nothing in his eyes. And here I was wanting to be his world.

I knew a relationship would never work between us. Our friends and families would disagree completely. So every day I wished that it was different. My attempts were wasted; I knew he'd never change. I knew he'd forever hate me and what I was. Because I was so different to him. But I couldn't stop, even if I tried making myself. This had harvested in me for so long I didn't know if I could at least try.

The want to tell him also grew, burning in my chest so much sometimes it hurt. I couldn't be near him in fear I'd just spill everything. And he just thought my avoidance of him was because I hated him. If only he knew the truth. But I would be the laughing stock in the school for ages; I would be too ashamed to show my face. I couldn't bring myself to do that to myself and my friends. Then again, he would probably be so horrified at the thought that I had feelings for him he wouldn't tell anyone because he'd be too ashamed. Then he'd avoid me like I was a roach or something. Something so much viler than I already was to him.

And it didn't help we were both Head students, sharing a commons and a bathroom. My dormitory was just across the hall from his. It would've been so easy just to talk to him. To even hint to him; but this was one time my courage failed. Okay many times my courage failed. And here I was, a Gryffindor, definitely known for courage and I was failing. Shit.

I didn't expect him to ask me what was wrong that day. I had been so down cast about how stupid and chicken I was that I must have been showing it completely. And he had asked me what was wrong. I was so taken aback by that I didn't reply until he had asked again. I told him nothing although the words were just in my mouth. I had to say little as possible so I did not just ramble. I knew he didn't believe me; I could see how skeptic he was. He was frowning and my heart fluttered because he was showing care. Oh my God, I probably would have pissed my pants had I not been concentrating on containing myself.

Slowly – and oh Jesus do I mean slowly – I came to accept the fact nothing would ever evolve from my cowardice. Not that I went and told him anything, I just kind of gave up on it. I began to accept that he hated me and I was worthless to him. Until that night.

I was sitting in the commons, my transfiguration book propped up on the coffee table and my legs crossed underneath. I was writing a report for the class, staying up late to finish it. It had only been assigned that day. It was due in a week. I was almost done. I began to tap the feather end of my quill against my cheek, letting it tickle my nose when he stumbled in. I looked up and feared, because his face was red. He looked towards me because I was kind of in front of him, just off to the side a bit. His eyes seemed hollow from where I sat. I just couldn't bring myself to look away.

And then I realized he needed me, badly. In a comforting way, that is. I stood as he was moving around the seating area; I caught his arm as he was about to disappear down the hall way that led to our rooms. And it was my turn to ask what was wrong.

"Leave me be, Granger," he said softly. He made no attempt to remove his arm from my grasp, but I held on firmly. Determined, I would not allow him to be alone. Especially when he looked so ... _dead_. I was afraid he would make some unwise decisions.

"I want to help," I said pathetically. My voice was soft, almost inaudible even to me. I suddenly felt very small. Okay, even smaller than I already was – even next to his staggering height. I felt like a child next to a giant. But this giant was seemingly a lot smaller right now. "What happened?"

"Really," he looked down at me, an edge in his voice, "It's none of your business." Still, he wasn't moving. I could see the emotions in his eyes and I realized his guard was down. Very much. And I knew this would be my only chance to help him; it was the first time this had ever happened and it was just past Christmas. "And I don't want your help." Ouch.

I let my hand uncurl, slipping from his arm in a sad attempt to keep hold. But I told myself no; don't do this to yourself Hermione. Obviously, I wasn't listening to myself. "Just tell me what happened?" I offered feebly. "You know how logical I can be."

He snorted and rolled his eyes, but a sigh emitted from his mouth and I knew he would say eventually. He was collecting his thoughts, I could see, as his eyes were moving back and forth like he was watching a scene unfurl. "It's just..." he stopped for a moment, looking up at me. His face took on a sober look, "It really is a blow below the belt when you catch your girlfriend with another person."

Oh _shit_. I had no idea he'd be _that_ open. I kind of shrank back; suddenly aware this was definitely not a conversation _enemies_ should be having. "Parkinson...?" I asked quietly, and he nodded. "That's dreadful. I... I'm sorry that happened. Is there anything I could do to help?"

An eyebrow rose and he gave me an incredulous look, as if he didn't believe I even offered that. "I said I didn't _want_ your help Granger."

"I know," I said softly, averting my eyes away from his face, "But I want to."

"What's _with_ you?" he grunted, a disgruntled look coming upon his face. "You've been acting so strange lately. God," he groaned, squinting and pushing his pointer finger and thumb into his eye sockets. "Shit. I'm bloody pissed. Shit. Shit. _Shit_." He turned swiftly – enough that I didn't see him do it – and slammed his fist into the wall above my head and to the left of me. "Fuck," he whispered and extracted his hand from the hole in the wall. Blood soaked splinters were embedded in his hand (that was also the first time I noticed our walls weren't stone in that area). He cradled the injured hand in his good one, a look of fury on his face.

I must've had a look of shock and maybe even fear on my face because he uttered an apology but I composed myself and said, "That's all right. I understand you're angry. Do you want me to help you bandage that?"

He sighed, gave in, and let me take his hand in mine. "I guess you can help _something_." I led him to the couch and sat him down while I conjured a bandage and ointment. "Bloody fuck," he cursed.

"This might hurt," I sat on the edge of the pulled up coffee table and came as close as I could without touching and took his injured hand again. I gently pulled on a splinter; he sucked in air between his clenched teeth.

"Isn't there any other way to take the damn things out?" he barked. I could see his frustration, his concentration on not yanking his hand away.

"I'm afraid by magic would only hurt worse, if that is what you mean," I said quietly, pulling the splinter out and setting it on a napkin to my right. His blood covered it, and it transferred to my finger tips. I wonder what he thought of that. I took the next one between my pointer finger and thumb and slipped it from his skin. He winced again; this one was particularly long and sharp like a few others still embedded. I mean, there weren't very many but I bet the pain caused it to look and feel worse. Strings of curses followed each one.

On the second to last splinter I stuck myself on the end. Just enough to let a few droplets of blood escape my finger tip but I yanked my hand away just in case it angered him – with his blood problem and all. I think he knew what I was doing, to keep my blood from touching his. That would make him _contaminated_. Heaven forbid. But the funny thing was, he didn't move an inch, besides his eyes looking up at me. Applying pressure to the wound, I let the blood clot before I continued.

When I completely removed every splinter I made him go wash his hand and make sure I got every one out. He returned, hand cleared and relief evident on his face. He sat down again and I took his hand, the ointment ready to go. I took some from the container and gently applied it to the wounded areas. I let it sit for a few minutes. "You know, my theory is if a person cheats on you they aren't good enough for you," I kept my eyes downcast on his hand, but I felt his eyes on me.

"I don't think I called for a lesson," he said, his voice calm. "But I know. I'm sick of her always going behind my back. That's why I broke up with her."

"Do you mean this wasn't the first time?" I managed to look up quickly, but returned my gaze to his out stretched hand.

"No," he admitted, grunting in an uncomfortable way. "But each time she managed to persuade me to not let her go. I always believed when she said she'd never do it again, that she actually _loved_ me." He paused, his thoughts rearranging before he spat out: "Damnit I hate that fucking word," he flexed his hand. He was probably dying to hit something else.

"What? Love?" I asked quietly. I switched my gaze to my own hands, which were sweating and I was rubbing them together. They were shaking. If it weren't uncomfortable before, it definitely was now. Oh my God I was barely keeping myself conscious. By his silence I knew that he meant yes; "It's not something you should hate, Malfoy." My voice faltered on the word hate, enough that I had to clear my throat. "I mean," I recovered, "It completely sucks some times. Especially when... well, it just sucks sometimes but you shouldn't _hate_ it."

He was silent, so I looked up awkwardly. The usual smirk he held adorned his face and humor graced his eyes. I bit my lip and grabbed the bandage. I spread his hand apart, his large fingers underneath my own. I pressed my palm against his, the end of the bandage between the hands and I began to wrap it around a few times before sealing it off and cutting the extra. I slipped my hand from his and gathered the materials and with a swish of my wand, made them disappear. I went about collecting my books, suddenly too occupied to finish the work I had set out.

But his presence still made me uneasy. I knew he was watching me. I could feel it. I held the books to my chest and quickly departed, practically jogging down the hall to my room. I closed the door behind me and dumped my books on my bed; sighing, I sat on the edge of it. My heart beat raced, it was pounding against my chest. Even so much more when, minutes later, I heard a soft knock on my door. Grimacing, I went to open the door.

He towered above me, standing directly in the middle of the door frame facing me. "I wanted to thank you, but you left so quickly," he said in a low, oh so seductive type voice. I wondered if he knew it was so. A thought occurred to me; did he sense my affection? Because usually he would be cold towards me. Then again, this had been quite a day for him. Breaking up with his girlfriend he had had for years, his hand in a wall, splinters, etc...

Oh my _God. _I really, really think he guessed at it. A smirk came over his lips as he looked down at me. "Y-You're welcome," I stumbled over my words, cautious of my movement. I went to close the door, intent on saying good night then crawling into bed. Maybe even locking the door. He stopped it with his good hand and pressed it back open.

"I've never had anyone as good to me as you are, Granger," he said, once again in that low voice. "I don't even think you realize how much you are." Okay. Was that just my imagination? I'm pretty sure I was either insane or this was just a dream. "That's why I wanted to know what's been with you lately. Because you're just so... different than the past years."

"Because..." I shouldn't've opened my big mouth, that's what! "I don't want to hate you, Malfoy. I really don't. But you've been such a jerk to my friends and me in the past that it makes it _really_ hard to not hate you. I just want to be, uh..." I stopped my self, knowing if I'd continued I would definitely say too much. "On... on good terms, that's all."

An eyebrow rose, the smirk slipped and replaced by a curious expression instead. He relaxed against the door frame as I took a small step back. "Why are you shaking?" he asked softly.

I hadn't realized I was, but I was indeed. I stared down at my trembling hands, biting my lip; "I'm nervous," I admitted, and knowing he'd ask about what, I continued, "In case I say what I shouldn't say."

"What shouldn't you say?" he seemed genuinely curious; so much to the point where I wanted to spill everything, right then and there. But it was inappropriate, especially the whole Parkinson thing... I groaned inwardly.

"I don't want to discuss it right now," or ever. I clasped the door handle in my hand and went to close it, but he held the door ajar with his good hand. "Please?" I offered, looking down at my feet.

"The fact that you don't want to discuss it now makes me completely sure that it's about me. Now, Granger," he smirked again, straightening his posture. "You wouldn't leave me out in the cold, would you?" he seemed as if he were about the burst out laughing. I blushed.

"I-I can't," I muttered, keeping my eyes fiercely on my feet.

"Granger," his voice turned gruff, harsh if I may say. He lifted my chin by his good hand, it was strong and firm.

Now, any time before this night if I had touched him or he accidentally touched me he would have flipped. I mean flipped. Going on one of his "filthy Mud-blood!" rants which I would ignore completely for hours on end. It was very peculiar to me to witness this first-hand. It was as if he was completely changed.

"You've changed," I whispered my thoughts softly, raising one hand to gently caress his hand under my chin. My eye lids fell closed half-way and I stared down, unable to look him in the eye.

Oh shit. Did I just say changed? God, no! That's what I had always _wished_ for and if it came true... Oh bugger.

He smiled – yes, smiled – as I raised my eyes to peek at his expression. To see a smile on Draco Malfoy's face made my heart leap. He really did look so adorable that way... Damnit. He was saying something... something I know I needed to hear, so I ripped my eyes away from him, back down to my feet. "So I have," he whispered in return.

I swear. If I had the option, I would have been a puddle by then. But I removed my hand from his, wishing he would remove his fingers from under my chin but they seemed to linger. "I-I need to ... to go," I murmured. Closing my eyes completely, I furrowed my eyebrows.

My mind kept saying: You stupid, stupid girl. Look at the position you are in; tell him! But my lips would not form those words. They just kept saying; to go. to go. My shame took over my love. Maybe I didn't love him as much as I thought.

I'm not sure when I first started to fancy him. But I think it was in third year, when I had hit him and he ran like a puss. Because that's when I knew he wasn't a big as a bully as he thought he was. And he actually had feelings. Before that, he was just some unemotional rat to me. But I couldn't really _say_ anything, now could I? That would have been such a disaster.

But I knew throughout the years my fancy for him grew. Fourth year was a good one; especially the whole fake-Moody turning him into a ferret thing. At the Yule Ball we had stumbled upon each other at the drink table where he had _complimented _me, of course in an inconspicuous way, but none-the-less he had. From that it escalated. Over the last couple years, when Harry would blame Malfoy for some thing, I tried to subtly offer a different solution than just him. It was like a favor he never asked for me to do, but I felt I needed to.

I finally closed the door on him, shaking and all. I locked it for good measure, hopeful that if I accidentally jumped him in the night, the lock would somehow keep me in. That was ridiculous, I know. But at least, it was a way to keep him out. I threw all my books on the floor, not caring so much at that point. I had just thrown away a perfect opportunity and I felt completely stupid for it. I think I might've beaten my pillow to a pulp.

I drifted off to sleep sometime, probably from exhaustion more than actual sleepiness. But then I woke – it was still dark out side – to someone pounding on my door, some one saying my surname. I had slept a lot off, but I didn't know if I could handle seeing him just so yet.

I slipped off the edge of my bed and moved to stand beside the closed door; "Yes, what is it?" I asked through the wood.

"Oh, you're awake," I heard his muffled reply.

"Obviously, being awake is an understatement when you have some one pounding on your bedroom door," I said quickly, cursing myself for the edge in the tone I had.

"Sorry," he said softly. Almost too soft I could barely hear through the wood. "I can't sleep." He paused, and at first I thought he had gone but knowing he wouldn't have left without saying something first, I remained by the door to hear him again. "Can you open the door? It's very important."

"What do you want?" I asked curiously, reaching for the door handle, unlocking the handle, and opening the door a peak. I could barely see him in the moon rays coming from my room. But I didn't have much time to view the scene because he pushed the door open, causing it to bang against the wall and come to a stand still. I froze, my shoulders hunched. He was standing there with his body rigid and I could feel his stormy eyes on me. In the rays that caught his skin, illuminating whatever of his body, I could see him shaking. "Oh," I breathed, "Okay then." I stepped back. I seriously thought he was going to attack me. I had left my wand on my bedside table.

"I can't stop," he breathed, ragged as if the words were forced from his lips. "I just can't stop _thinking_ about you right now, Granger. What the hell are you _doing_ to me?" He advanced, grasping my arms slightly with his strong hands.

"I-I..." well, I stuttered, that's for sure. My eyes were wide, and my skin probably white as pure light. I couldn't form coherent words.

"No, please. Let me continue or I'll never be able to," obviously I obliged, because I shut my mouth quickly. "Ever since earlier, when I first came into the commons and you were sitting there, and you were so... _nice_ to me after every thing I have put you through. I haven't been able to sleep at all. You're in every thought, Granger. _Every fucking thought!_" He breathed and loosed his grip on me. "You've consumed me."

He was finished, I thought, as my mouth hung open. "I... I don't know what to say," I muttered helplessly. After all this time of caring for him, that's the BEST I could DO? Damnit I was _pathetic_! Come on Hermione, be stronger than that! "No, wait," I suddenly said. I breathed in air between my teeth, holding in my chest before I exhaled it with words. "You don't know how happy I am to hear that, really."

After a brief second of silence, he whispered, "What?"

Now or never. Now or never! I had to tell him now. I made a face, grimaced if you please, about my embarrassment. "Damn," I muttered, looking down. But no, I looked back up right into his eyes. "I..." my mouth opened to form that single syllable. Words caught in my throat. _Strong, Hermione, be strong. _He kept quiet and I was grateful for that, knowing if he interrupted I would probably never be able to get it out. "I..." I started again, "Care about you. A lot. And when I mean _care_... I mean that word you hate."

"God, Granger..." he muttered, his brows furrowed. "Is that what's been up with you lately?"

I winced and nodded, "Yeah. It is." I sighed and tilted my head forward, letting my curly hair hang in my face. "It's just... it's the _same_ for me of what you said. How I... consumed you? Well, Malfoy," I gulped, "I can't stop thinking about you."

It felt very nice to get that off my chest. But I was worried about the silence that passed between us. I heard someone's breathing – mine or his I'm not sure, but one of us was breathing very hard. "Shit," he muttered and then no more. Well, neither of us could say no more. But I was surprised that was _all_ he said. I was thinking more along the lines of "you disgusting Mud-blood!" but I guess I can be wrong.

I stood still; suddenly I was aware that is was he who was breathing hard. I don't know what from. It was slightly worrying. "How long?" he whispered. "How long have you cared about...me?"

"Since third year," I whispered, but the words barely left my lips. "When I hit you." I couldn't hear myself and wondered how he could.

"_Shit_," he repeated. If that was the word of the day then he was doing extraordinarily well in usage of it. "You're really an idiot, Granger. You really are." He reached forward and grasped my arms again, pulling me towards him with ease. He took my mouth with his own, causing me to freeze against him for just a split second before I even _realized_ what was happening.

Yup, puddle time. Good thing I was actually very solid.

Weaving my arms around his neck, he curved his hands down my legs and hooked them in my knees. He lifted me up so I was straddling his body and he pressed us against the nearest wall. Hell, all that while remaining locked at the lips. Well, it was Draco Malfoy after all. I had heard rumors he could do amazing things. Not that I believed them before or anything.

We ended up on the bed sometime, but don't worry! I wasn't turning into some slut or anything. We both had our clothes on. And nor were we doing anything but talking. I told him everything, about why I started to like him way back when. It was just much easier to talk about now since I was less embarrassed and he knew. Plus, he found it a laugh I had kept it in so long. Especially since he thought I'd hated him. Likewise, I said, likewise.

We laid facing each other, close on the bed but not quite touching. Besides about why I liked him, we talked about his over thinking of me. He was still contemplating everything and I understood. He _had_ been brought up to hate me so it was easier to comprehend. But he did say he wanted to pursue a relationship. Sometime. Mainly, he liked to point out the fact that if any of this got out his father would know and he'd be killed, tortured, or cut from the family inheritance. So that was my main purpose of agreeing to keep quiet about it for now. Either Lucius had to be dead first, or Draco – he made me call him Draco in private – had to have a secure footing in the inheritance so he could be able to survive on his own.

Cracking a smile, I closed my eyes and rubbed my head against my pillow. I really did feel better about not having to keep this inside from him. Now from Harry, Ron, and Ginny I would have to keep them in the dark still. I did feel bad, slightly. Especially for Ron, because he had been paying me more attention and actually showing interest. But then again it pissed me off. He had six and a half years to do something about it and not once – not once! Except the time he threw a fit about Victor Krum and me.

But now, now I had Draco to look forward to. And I was happy. Very much indeed.


End file.
